No. LXXXVIII.
There is a popular notion, that sumptuary laws are applicable to monarchies—not to republics. The very reverse is the truth. Montesquieu says, Spirit of Laws, book vii. ch. 4, that “luxury is extremely proper for monarchies, and that, under this government, there should be no sumptuary laws.”
Sumptuary laws are looked upon, at present, as the relics of an age gone by. These laws, in a strict sense, are designed to restrain pecuniary extravagance. It has often been attempted to stigmatize the wholesome, prohibitory laws of the several States, in regard to the sale of intoxicating liquor, by calling them sumptuary laws. The distinction is clear—sumptuary laws strike at the root of extravagance—the prohibitory, license laws, as they are called, strike, not only at the root of extravagance, but at the root of every crime, in the decalogue.
The leges sumptuariæ of Rome were numerous. The Locrian law limited the number of guests, and the Fannian law the expense, at festivals. The Didian law extended the operation of all these laws over Italy.
The laws of the Edwards III., and IV., and of Henry VIII., against shoes with long points, short doublets, and long coats, were not repealed, till the first year of James I. Camden says, that, “in the time of Henry IV., it was proclaimed, that no man should wear shoes, above six inches broad, at the toes.” He also states, “that their other garments were so short, that it was enacted, 25 Edward IV., that no person, under the condition of a lord, should wear any mantle or gown, unless of such length, that, standing upright, it might cover his buttocks.”
Diodorus Siculus, lib. xii. cap. 20, gives an amusing account of the sumptuary laws of Zeleucus, king of the Locrians. His design appears to have been to accomplish his object, by casting ridicule upon those practices, against which his laws were intended to operate. He decreed, that no free woman should have more than one maid to follow her, unless she was drunk; nor should she stir out of the city by night, nor wear jewels of gold, or an embroidered gown, unless she was a professed strumpet. No men, but ruffians, were allowed to wear gold rings, nor to be seen, in one of those effeminate vests of the manufacture of Miletum.
The very best code of sumptuary laws is that, which may be found in the common sense of an enlightened community. Nothing, that I have ever met with, upon this subject, appears more just, than the sentiments of Michael De Montaigne, vol. i. ch. 43—“The true way would be to beget in men a contempt of silks and gold, as vain and useless; whereas we add honor and value to them, which sure is a very improper way to create disgust. For to enact, that none but princes shall eat turbot, nor wear velvet or gold lace, and interdict these things to the people, what is it, but to bring them into greater esteem, and to set every one more agog to eat and wear them?”
No truth has been more amply demonstrated, than that a republic has more to fear from internal than from external causes—less from foreign foes, than from enemies of its own household.
To the ears of those, who have not reflected upon the subject, it may sound like the croaking note of some ill boding ab ilice cornix—but I look upon extravagant parade, and princely furniture of foreign manufacture, the introduction of courtly customs, transatlantic servants in livery, et id genus omne nugarum, as so many premonitory symptoms of national evil—as part and parcel of that luxury, which may justly be called the gangrene of a republic.
But does any one seriously fear, that an extravagant fandango, now and then, will lead to revolution, or produce a change in our political institutions? Probably not. But it will provoke a spirit of rivalry—of emulation, not unmingled with bitterness, and which will cost many an aspirant a great deal more, than he can afford. It will lead the community to turn their dwellings into baby houses, and to gather vast assemblies together, not for the rational purposes of social intercourse, but for the purpose of exhibiting their costly toys and imported baubles. It will tend to harden the heart; and render us more and more insensible to the cries of the poor; for whose keen occasions we cannot afford one dollar, having, just then, perhaps, invested a thousand, in some glittering absurdity. It will, ultimately, produce numerous examples of poverty, and fill the community with desperate men.
The line of distinction, between the liberality of a patrician and the flashy, offensive ostentation of a parvenu, at Rome, or at Athens, was as readily perceived, as the difference between the manners of a gentleman, and those of a clown.
Every rank of society, like the troubled sea, casts forth upon the strand, from year to year, its full proportion of wrecked adventurers—men, who have gone beyond their depth; lived beyond their means; and who cherish no care, ne quid detrimenti Respublica caperet; but, on the contrary, who are quite ready for oligarchy, or monarchy; and some of whom would prefer even anarchy, to their present condition of obscurity and poverty.
Law and order are of the first importance to every proprietor; for, on their preservation, the security of his property depends; but they are of no importance to those, who are thus, virtually, denationalized, through impoverishment, produced by a career of luxury. Such, if not already the component elements of Empire clubs, are always useless, and often dangerous men.
It was a well known saying of Jefferson’s, that great cities were great sores. “In proportion,” says Montesquieu, “to the populousness of towns, the inhabitants are filled with notions of vanity, and actuated by an ambition of distinguishing themselves, by trifles. If they are very numerous, and most of them strangers to one another, their vanity redoubles, because there are greater hopes of success.” According to the apothegm of Franklin, it is the eyes of others, and not our own, that destroy us.
“Every body agrees,” says Mandeville in his Fable of the Bees, i. 98, “that, as to apparel and manner of living, we ought to behave ourselves suitable to our conditions, and follow the example of the most sensible and prudent, among our equals in rank and fortune; yet how few, that are not either universally covetous, or else proud of singularity, have this discretion to boast of? We all look above ourselves, and, as fast as we can, strive to imitate those that, some way or other, are superior to us.”
“The poorest laborer’s wife in the parish, who scorns to wear a strong wholesome frize, will half starve herself and her husband, to purchase a second-hand gown and petticoat, that cannot do her half the service, because, forsooth, it is more genteel. The weaver, the shoemaker, the tailor, the barber, has the impudence, with the first money he gets, to dress himself like a tradesman of substance; the ordinary retailer, in the clothing of his wife, takes pattern from his neighbor, that deals in the same commodity by wholesale, and the reason he gives for it is, that, twelve years ago, the other had not a bigger shop than himself. The druggist, mercer, and draper, can find no difference, between themselves and merchants, and therefore dress and live like them. The merchant’s lady, who cannot bear the assurance of those mechanics, flies for refuge to the other end of the town, and scorns to follow any fashion, but what she takes from thence. This haughtiness alarms the court—the women of quality are frightened to see merchants’ wives and daughters dressed like themselves. This impudence of the city, they cry, is intolerable; mantua-makers are sent for; and the contrivance of fashions becomes all their study, that they may have always new modes ready to take up, as soon as those saucy cits shall begin to imitate those in being. The same emulation is contrived through the several degrees of quality, to an incredible expense; till, at last, the prince’s great favorites, and those of the first rank, having nothing else left, to outstrip some of their inferiors, are forced to lay out vast estates in pompous equipages, magnificent furniture, sumptuous gardens, and princely palaces.”
Like an accommodating almanac, the description of Mandeville is applicable to other meridians, than that, for which it was especially designed.
The history of all, that passes in the bosom of a proud man, unrestrained by fixed religious and moral principles, during his transition from affluence to poverty, must be a very edifying history. With such an individual the fear of God is but a pack-thread, against the unrelaxing, antagonist muscle of pride. The only Hades, of which he has any dread, is that abyss of obscurity and poverty, in which a man is condemned to abide, who falls from his high estate, among the upper ten thousand. What plans, what projects, what infernal stratagems occasionally bubble up, in the overheated crucible! Magnanimity, and honor, and humanity, and justice are unseen—unfelt. The dust of self-interest has blinded his eyes—the pride of life has hardened his heart.
If the energies of such men are not mischievously employed, they are, at best, utterly lost to the community.